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Poetry for Pilgrims, Cultivating Catholic Imaginations · Jun 26, 2026

"I see the long procession still passing to and fro"

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Jenny Lark Snarski · Poetry for Pilgrims, Cultivating Catholic Imaginations

This evening I started the last class in my Master’s in Faith and Culture program at the University of St. Thomas, Houston. “Spirituality and Psychology” was described to the class as bridging the desire to have psychology take, work through and/or explain away our problems with the invitation spirituality makes to see that “problems” can be some of life’s greatest gifts—especially in how they bring us into relationship with ourselves, others and particularly with God.

Poetry so effectively bridges the concrete and universal, the mundane and the transcendent and paradox with perspective! With an intensive month of two nights of class for five weeks and the momentous 250th celebration of America’s founding, I will leave you to noodle on this poem for a couple of weeks…

Comments last week were wonderful! Thank you to all who contributed…
Feel free to share any other poems about bridges or perspective uniting the two “shores” of spirituality and psychology.
Royalty free image from pickpic.com

I stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters
The wavering shadows lay,
And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,
Rose the belated tide,
And, streaming into the moonlight,
The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thoughts came o’er me
That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, O, how often,
In the days that had gone by,
I had stood on that bridge at midnight
And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, O, how often,
I had wished that the ebbing tide
Would bear me away on its bosom
O’er the ocean wild and wide!

For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea;
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river
On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odor of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands
Of care-encumbered men,
Each bearing his burden of sorrow,
Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession
Still passing to and fro,
The young heart hot and restless,
And the old subdued and slow!

And forever and forever,
As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection
And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882); In the Public Domain.

Read the original on catholicimaginations.substack.com

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